His Only Believer
by national babe
Summary: "... And then, the Man in the Moon decided to replace my fear with their wonder, and hope, and-" "Uno." "What? You were playing without me!" "Well, you looked pretty involved in that story. Now draw 4 cards." "I hate you." "And now draw 4 more cards, cuz I'm petty like that."
1. The Impossible is Possible

Pitch Black stumbled along the streets, pain causing him to double over more then once. He his foot snagged on a bump, nearly making him fall to the ground before he caught himself and leaned up against a brick wall. He was breathing heavily, waiting for the pounding in his head to recede. The rain was pressing down hard, sending cold streams down his back. It helped oh-so-little with the pain, but he was grateful for it.

He heard chattering behind him, someone on a phone, and he started to turn. Before he could see if he needed to move out of the way, the woman passed straight through him.

He doubled over once again, fighting the urge to throw up. New pain flared in his skull, causing his vision to blur even worse than before. He was barely able to put his arm against the wall to support him.

He had been through this before, back in the dark ages in the aftermath of losing the believers. There had been the short time of nothing, filled with the fear of what was to come, before the pain rolled in. He had learned that walking was the best way to help keep the pain at bay.

He had been mindlessly walking through a forest (avoiding the Man in the Moon's moon beams,) when he had stumbled into the town. He hadn't even been fully aware of his surroundings until he started hearing the cars roll by, splashing disgusting water in his face.

A small part of him wondered if the guardians had started to feel it, back when they had fought. No. He hadn't seen any show of pain, and, once the static fuzz fades, the beginning is always the worst. They wouldn't have been able to fight him if they had felt it. The fool Frost wouldn't have felt it at all. He was on an emotion high with his first believer, and the child hadn't stopped believing after everything Pitch did.

Pure foolishness.

He straightened, clenching his teeth, and moved to a side passageway in time for another pedestrian to pass him. Perhaps he should just wait here awhile.

Suddenly, he felt the throbbing in his head lessen slightly.

His imagination? No. Surely not. He could feel it growing slightly weaker every few seconds. It wasn't anything big, but he lurched towards the small feeling of relief. He stumbled to the opposite wall, the sound of song and laughter reaching his ears through the pelting rain. He looked out, leaning around the corner.

A girl, only 16 it looked, was running about on the sidewalk, kicking puddles and throwing her head back to catch rain on her tongue. She took her folded umbrella and dragged the tip through the puddles in a circle around herself. As she drew parralel with him, he felt the pain definitely lessen. It wasn't gone by a long shot, but it wasn't as bad.

Opening the umbrella as a car passed her by, she caught the wave of water inside, then proceeded to dump it on her head, laughing as it washed away. Dragging her wet, dark blonde hair out of her face, she prepared to do the motion again as another car came close.

"Isn't that stuff polluted?" He muttered to himself.

"Hmm?" The girl turned around, the smile still on her face as she faced him. She locked eyes with him, and the smile changed into a look of surprise. He blinked, jerking his head back.

Impossible.

"Ummm..." she said, at a loss for words.

He pushed himself off of the wall, lurching towards her with every intention to find out if she...

He fell and watched the world grow black, the pain taking it's toll.

\-- later --

Adalie Kia stood, watching her sleeping house guest until it occurred to her that of he woke up, this would be every level of creepy. She stayed put for a moment longer. He hadn't shown any signs of consciousness after she had found him, and she was wondering if that was normal.

She shook herself. Enough is enough.

Setting herself to changing into some dry clothes, she headed towards her bedroom. She hung the soaked outfit she had been wearing on the line and watched the water drip to the floor. It rolled down the gentle slope and into the drain. She had wisely placed a grate over the wide hole to keep herself from misteping and getting stuck; or worse.

Toweling her hair dry, she changed into a comfortable pair of slacks, and a thick t-shirt. She paused for a moment, gazing up through her sky-light above her bed. It was actually a hole in the ceiling but she had placed a window over it and called it a sky-light. Soon her stomach growled and she left to prepare some food.

As she walked past the couch on her way to the kitchen she saw his sleeping form again. Even the sight of him made her nerves go up a tick, despite... well, everything, really.

"Its ok." She muttered to herself. "You just have who is probably the king of nightmares in your living room. Nothing too big." She gave a puff of air, forced a smile onto her face, and rummaged through her cupboard for a can of soup. Nodding her head, she let the sound of a drip hitting a bucket act as the meter for a song she was humming.

She pulled the pot from on top of the stove and headed back towards her room and set the pot and can on her mattress. She didn't have many pillows, and she had outgrown the bed by several inches. The old frame barely kept it a foot from the floor and she was desperately needing some new sheets. Walking back into the 'living room' she pulled some dry wood and her match box from near the couch.

She paused for a moment, observing Pitch. He shifted, scowling in his sleep, and she hurried back to her room. She carefully started arranging the wood over the drain, which she had dried. Once she was satisfied, she drew out her matches and worked on starting the fire. When it finally stayed lit she sat in front of it for a moment, letting it warm her. She sighed, got up, walked over to the corner and pulled a metal frame over the top of the drain/fire pit, setting the pot and soup on top. She stood and carefully plopped down on her bed, looking at the sky.

"Is that a reused towel rack?" A dry bemused voice asked from the door way. She jumped, shooting up straight and let out a small squeak when she saw Pitch in the doorway.

"I-um, what?" She stammered.

He rolled his eyes and pointed to the small fire pit where the soup had just started bubbling.

"The grate that you used to keep the pot out of the fire. It's a reused towel rack, is it not?"

"Oh." She sat up properly, crossing her legs and leaning forward. "Yeah. I had to use something and I saw that at the give-away and repurposed it."

"Hmm." He was leaning against the doorframe, mouth in a slanting line, face pale and drained of all color.

"Are you strong enough to be standing and walking all over the place?"

He cut his eyes at her. They carried the obvious message of 'what do you care', and cast another shiver down her spine. "There isn't much floor space to be 'Walking all over the place' as you put it."

She huffed, folding her arms. "I know my home is the size of a postage stamp. You don't have to remind me." She looked over at the soup, which was now boiling heavily. "I forgot the mug." She sighed. Standing up she moved past him, walking down the small and thin hallway.

Her 'walls' were mostly just the supporting beams covered by cloth, and, in some places, not even that. She had no doors to separate the rooms, and only her bedroom had a sheet hanging in front of it to help keep in the warmth. The house truly was tiny, and rectangular in shape. The 'hall' spanned from one side to the other, length-wise, and lasted only about 12 paces. If you could have moved from side to side width-wise, it would only be 9. The 'kitchen' didn't even have any walls left. It was only an unused stove, a shelf and a cupboard all shoved in a corner near the door. The largest room was her 'living room' and held the couch, which was the only place to sit other than her bed. Her bedroom was the room farthest down the hall and to the right as the living room took the entire left side. Her bedroom held her fire pit, bed, skylight, clothes line not far from the pit, and a wicker basket of dirty laundry.

Pitch followed her around, taking in his surroundings. She didn't seem to have any electric or heating. The only source of light besides windows was her beloved skylight. He stood behind her as she grabbed a lonely mug from a nearly empty shelf.

She turned around to face him, suddenly curious.

"Can you eat?"

He was taken aback and it took a moment for his brain to process this. "Yes. I do not need to, but I am perfectly capable of doing so."

"Well do you want some of the soup?"

There was silence for a moment, before he barked out a laugh. This child was ridiculous, offering h i m food. "Do you even know who I am?"

She raised an eyebrow, face neutral. "Pardon, but I don't exactly see how being the Nightmare King affects whether or not you want to eat."

His laughter caught in his throat. She smirked, grabbed another mug, and walked past him and back into the bedroom.

He followed a second later and found her sitting on her bed, blowing on her soup. She patted the opposite end of the bed, motioning for him to sit. As he did she handed him the other cup, and he realized he did want it. He was still cold and felt weak, but the warmth and smell that the soup gave off melted that away. He took a sip, the heat nearly burning his mouth. He brought the mug down and held it near his chest.

"Quit being so smug, child."

"I'm not smug. What's smug? Certainly not me." Pitch looked over as she took a long slurp from the cup, looking to the side and trying not to smile.

He rolled his eyes, returning to his soup.

Finally, his cup empty, he looked over at her and asked the question.

"Why do you see me?" Pitch asked, looking her right in the eyes. She didn't know what to say. Couldn't anyone see him?

"What, am I the only one who can?" She voiced her thoughts.

"The only mortal that I know of." His gold eyes never moved from her grey. His intense gaze, coupled with his existence as an embodiment of fear made her start to stutter and lose her train of thought.

"Oooohk? I still don't understand."

He sighed at her ignorance and looked away. "Aside from other spirits like myself, mortals such as you would not be able to see me unless you believe I exist." He rolled his eyes toward her, 'eyebrows' raised.

"There are others like you?" An image of a world that inhabited more than one King of Nightmares seemed very unappealing.

"Yes." His voice was deceptively soft, as if he were trying to comfort her. She knew he wasn't. "The Guardians." The name meant nothing to her, yet he drawled it out like it was an offence to him, but he was trying to hide it. "Do you believe in the guardians child?" He said softly, yet almost accusatory.

"The ... guardians?"

"Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Sandman? Jack Frost too now (if you could believe it)." He listed off their names quickly, the bitterness apparent in his voice now.

He looked over to see her shocked face, the empty mug slipping from her hand. "They're ... real?"

His jaw fell a little, the corners of his mouth lifting into an astonished, and slightly incredulous, smile. He gave another bark of a laugh. "Y - you'd sooner believe in the symbol of fear then in the symbols of hope and wonder and all that nonsense?!" He threw his head back and laughed harder, pretending to wipe away a tear.

She scowled, folding her arms and leaning back against the wall.

"Its not the same. I didn't even believe there was actually the Boogeyman when I met you Pitch."

His laughter petered out slowly.

"You didn't believe in me, and yet you saw me, which means that you did believe." He cocked his head to the side, looking at her. "Do you realize how contradictory that sounds?"

"I believe that there is fear in the world. I've dealt with it more times than I would like to admit. I just never put a name on said fear, as I wasn't expecting it to be a person." She leveled her gaze at him, raising one eyebrow. "Yes, I do see how that is a little paradoxical, but it's true. I also belived that hope and wonder and 'all that other nonsense' is real. And now I know that they are people too."

He just stared blankly at her for a moment. "You are very complicated." He turned from her and looked back at the fire.

"Guess that makes two of us." She muttered, pulling a thin blanket out from underneath him and wrapping it around her shoulders.


	2. More to Learn

Pitch stalked around in the small living room. He couldn't understand how anyone could stand living in a dump such as this. The outside walls and floor were simply rough concrete, the other walls were decaying wood beams with dry wall falling off. There was no electricity and he knew how humans love the stuff. There was barely enough food to live on, along with no heating save a small fire that will probably end up burning down her little hovel.

Humans never made sense to him.

His internal clock told him that it was time, and he crept back to her door frame, pulling aside the sheet to watch.

A thin strand of fine golden sand snuck into the cramped space, starting to make circles around her head as she lay sleeping. The sand morphed into a silhouette of her walking along, the sun behind her and the rain before her. She smiled, snuggling deeper into bed.

"Hmm." His mouth cut into a thin line again. He entered fully, settling himself at the edge of her bed, and watched her sleep.

She had a very strange dream. After a while of walking she ran into a man, and took him along with her. They could be seen laughing around a table, in a fully electrical room, playing card games and drinking from steaming mugs. They laughed at cartoons on the television, went to the library together, held hands like they were bffs, everything.

Such foolish hopes. Strangers aren't nice people. He stood up, leaving the room in a whoosh, returning to the living room. He'd leave her to the delusion Sandy gave her.

That morning, Adalie woke, shivering and with her feet uncovered and freezing, with a great smile on her face.

Her dream had been wonderful. It had held everything she could have wanted even before she was alone: from coffee to TV to the library to a card game. She gave a wistful sigh.

If only she could remember who it was that was with her. He was a strangely comforting presence. He felt almost like a father figure, but at the same time he wasn't her father. It was very confusing. They laughed often: she could remember that much from the already foggy details. She had done most of the laughing, but his laughs were few and special.

She shrugged, still smiling. Dreams don't hold sway over real life events, she knew this. Best enjoy them and move on. She reached over, pulling the basket of laundry toward her and started rummaging for socks.

When she emerged from her room she found Pitch in the door frame for the living room. He was bearing a smile that more resembled a smirk, looking at her with his eyes completely void of all empathy.

"Sweet dreams?" He asked softly, voice honey-ed with sarcasm.

She placed her hand on her chest, donning a wistful expression, looking off to the side and fluttering her eyelashes. "Why yes!" She said, mockingly sounding like a delicate princess "I felt secure and had such wonderful fantasies."

He snorted, the corner of his mouth curling upwards breaking his cool facade and turned back into the living room. She chuckled to herself, and walked to her kitchen corner, grabbing her last three granola bars and a slightly bruised apple.

Unwrapping a bar she walked into the living room, shoving the wrapper in her pocket. She plopped down on the couch beside Pitch and slowly ate her bar. He ignored her, instead paying attention to a book that he got from who knows where.

"So." She finally broke the silence. "How'd your night go?"

He sighed, the book vanishing in a swarm of black sand. "Not as well as your 'dainty princess' sleep." She snickered, muttering 'dainty princess, ha' under her breath. He continued on, despite her interruption. "The last thing I want is to be stuck here." He rolled is eyes to her, voice apathetic again. "No offense." She rolled her own eyes and he looked away again. "I tried to leave, plain and simple. I didn't get far before the pain came back." He looked back at her, serious this time. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with you for a while yet."

She shrugged her shoulders and nodded. "Alright. I'll see if I can get another blanket. Speaking of," she pushed on her knees, standing up straight and stretching to pop her back "I'm heading to town, and since you apparently can't be too far from your lovely and only believer," she turned to him, grinning and batting her eyelashes again "you're gonna have to come with."

He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Oh, joy of joys." He reluctantly stood. "Where are we headed, exactly?" Pitch drawled, following Adalie.

"The charity. Source of lunch and food for the rest of the week." Adalie replied, heading to her room and picking up the basket of laundry. She started scooting out, bumping into him several times in the process.

"And why does lunch require your laundry?"

"The ladies clean them for me once a week." She shrugged. "Mrs. Emily also takes me to her house a few times a week so I can shower. They're good people." She stepped out into the outside, Pitch right behind her.

You wouldn't have been able to tell that it had been poring last night. The sun was out, the ground completely dried. It was however, morbidly humid out, and the basket in her arms kept getting heavier with every few steps.

"Hey, Pitch?" He turned his gaze on her, raising an eyebrow delicately. "This morning, when you were reading that book, you made it disappear in black sand."

"Indeed. A handy little trick as I have found." A touch of pride entered his voice.

"Can you do it to anything?" She pressed.

He drew his eyes away from a woman on the phone who had passed them, and back onto Adalie. "Within reason."

"Great!" She popped into a side alley and beckoned for him to come. "You get to do that with this!"

He stepped into the shadows. "Excuse me?" Drawing close he leaned menacingly over her, being a good head and shoulders taller than she. "I am not a slave."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine." She looked back at him mischieviously. "Would you p l e a s e, carry this for me?"

He scowled. She possed an amazing ability to press his buttons.

He opened his palm and black sand spurted out, enveloping the basket and her arms before she yanked them out with a small yelp. After fully covering the basket, it all popped seemingly out of existence.

Her eyes grew wide as she stared. "That," she spoke "is the flipping coolest."

Finally, after having stopped at a fast food stop to use the restroom, they reached the charity.

It was a made of two tents, a truck, and nothing else. One tent, the larger of the two, housed 10 round tables and chairs and a line of food. The other tent also covered tables, these ones long and almost over-flowing in some areas. They mostly held food items, but some clothing and miscellaneous items were present also. Most of the activity was here with people scurrying to and fro, choosing canned foods and shoes and shoving them in baskets and bags.

Adalie didn't go to either of these, instead heading towards a woman standing near the truck. When the woman looked over, her face filled with delight and she rushed over, loose grey hairs falling out of her bun. She looked like a mother; slightly plump, but she could clearly carry the the entirety of the responsibilities of a house hold on her back; she had wrinkles from smiling; her eyes were chocolate brown like her hair.

"Adalie, dear!" The woman took the basket of laundry from her and set it on the ground before crushing the girl in a hug. "Oh, it's always so wonderful to see you again!"

Adalie laughed a little uncomfortably. "You see me almost every day, Miss Emily."

Emily withdrew, patting her hair to keep the loose strands from falling in her face. "Well yes, but I worry about you. You are so young to be on your own!" Emily gave a small sigh of exasperation when Adalie opened her mouth to protest. She shook her head. "Oh, now is not the time. You must be hungry. Go on, get! You know how the eggs get cold so quickly." Emily shooed Adalie away, picking up the laundry and setting it in the truck bed.

Adalie sighed, but started eagerly heading towards the food line, her stomach growling at her for the measly breakfast.

"She sure is the motherly sort." Pitch commented. "Why is it that you don't just live with her?"

He watched as she tried to cover a wince and failed. "I have reasons, Pitch." Her voice was tense, almost defensive.

"Ooh." He sped up, parralel with her, and looked at her right in the eyes. "The little angel has secrets?"

Her grip tightened on the plate she was given, her eyes becoming steely again.

"Now is not the time." She was muttering quietly so as not to draw attention as she seemingly talked to thin air.

He continued on, talking as loud as he wanted, going on about how all secrets were his business and he could learn them whenever he wanted. He turned around, to see she was flat out ignoring him.

"Rude."

The lady at the counter piled eggs onto Adalie's plate, smiled, and waved as young girl walked over to an empty table. Pitch sat down next to her and glared at her.

"Don't pry into people's business when they are aware of your presence and they won't have to take measures to get you to shush." She scolded him without even glancing from her sandwich.

He only sneered.

Pitch was following Adalie around the give-away tent, bored out of his mind. He was half heartedly entertaining himself by bantering with her and unnerving passersby. He was staring at a woman with her hair up in a simplistic braid, causing her to look around aprehensively and send a cold shiver down her back in the heat of midday.

"You stop that." Adalie interrupted him with a small poke. "People will stop coming here."

"I don't care."

"There's a shocker right there." Adalie stopped suddenly, pausing to look at a small pile of clothes. Bored, he turned his attention away and his eyes fell on a ratty looking man with dirty grey hair. He grinned maliciously, focusing on rat man, and breathed in the man's sudden fear.

"Hey." She tugged on his sleeve until he dragged his eyes away and focused on her. She was holding a small foldable table and two foldable chairs. "Can you do the sand trick on these too? I can't carry them all the way home." He sighed and she set them on the ground where he covered them in his sand once again. "Thank you!" She headed off, grabbing a backpack and started filling it with food items.

He stared after her. What person in their right mind thanked the embodiment of fear? Or kept him in her house?

He loomed above her, causing a small shiver to go down her spine.

"Yyyyesss?" She dragged out the word, still picking through a cluster of canned foods.

"Are you always this cheery?" His voice was flat, displaying no emotion.

She shrugged. "Usually. Add that to the fact that I want this to be a good month, not much can keep me down for long. And why not make it a good one? There's not much of it left."

His brow creased, finding the last statement out of place. "We're not even two weeks into the month."

She shifted a fraction too uncomfortably, and answered a tad too quickly. "Yeah I know. Only two more weeks to go! Gotta make them count." She rubbed her neck, still not looking at him.

"Count for what?" He pressed. Not willing to give up, he shadow stepped to the other side of the table so she could see him.

"You sure are asking a lot of questions mister."

Smirking, he saw a chance for a bit of revenge. "Don't hide stuff from people when they know you're lying and they won't have to take measures to get the truth."

Her jaw dropped and she finally looked at him. His mouth curled upwards in victory as he waited for her to speak.

"I- I-"

"Adalie, dear!" Both of their heads snapped to the side, Adalie unconsciously letting out a relieved puff of air at the sight of Emily. The older woman was carrying Adalie's wicker basket, full with her freshly cleaned clothing. "I got this all sorted for you darling, and gave you an extra pair of socks."

Adalie was so relieved that she didn't protest at the extra socks. "Thank you Mrs Em." She hoisted the basket onto her hip, shifting as if she wanted to leave.

"Leaving soon?"

Adalie looked up in curiosity. "I was thinking of leaving now in fact."

"Well, before you do," Emily pointed off to the side, to a small table "we've put up a new table. It has some games, mostly books, and some other small things. Take a look." She patted Adalie on the back, and left for her job.

Swiping a blanket from a stand, Adalie made a bee-line to the table Emily pointed out.

"Avoiding me won't change that you ARE hiding something Adalie." Pitch called after her, venom tainting her name.

"No, but it'll help." She muttered under her breath. Her gut twisted as she flipped through a book on whittling. She had almost said it out loud for anyone to hear. She wasn't even sure why she kept it a secret from him. She kept it from the charity girls sure; she knew what they would do if she told them. But surely he would be leaving soon, once he had recovered enough. She nodded, forcing herself to believe that. "He just doesn't need to know that. It is in no way important to him. At all." She stuck the book into her backpack, along with a pocket knife. She turned to leave but stopped when a small red box caught her eye. Looking closer she saw that it was an 'Uno' box. She forced a smile on and shoved it into a pocket.

She strode out of the tent as Pitch reached her, dropping the basket onto his shadow. He instinctively caught it with his sand, letting it disappear as he managed to catch up to her.

"You haven't answered my question." Her mood went down a notch at his comment.

"I know." She snapped. "Clearly I don't want to."

"Ooh!" He was loving this, his step gained a little bounce to it as he got a step ahead of her. "Still defensive I see. It must really be something big huh?"

Making a sharp corner she stormed into a side alley. She grabbed him by his shoulder and dragged him until he was in front of her and she was looking down at him. He let out a small yelp, surprised by the sudden movement. She looked him dead in the eyes, well and truly angry now.

"Maybe I am hiding something because it is none of your business Pitch." She said his name with the same amount of venom he said hers. "I understand who you are, but keep your little nose out of others privacy." She held up fingers ticking them off as she spoke. "I decided to help you, I dragged your unconscious hide to my home, I have given you food that you don't need, and I have been tolerating you for a day and all I'm getting is your incessant crap." She glared at him, breathing heavily.

"Well what do you want me to do?" He accused back, standing up straight, scowling. "I can't just disappear; you can't just up and decide to believe that I no longer exist."

"I can-" she stopped suddenly, the last word catching in her throat. To finish her sentence with that cursed word "try" was simply not in her nature; unkindness was not her. Her eyes softened slightly, before she turned around. "Never mind." She stalked out, turning around the corner and calling behind. "Are you coming or not?"

He stood to his full height, scowling after her until his gut started twisting in pain. Casting a hateful glare up at the sky, where the shadowy form of the moon could be seen, he followed her.


	3. Time Wounds all Heals

Reaching her home, Adalie turned into to small alleyway. Her home was unfortunately squashed, out of sight, between two opposite facing houses. This was possibly the only reason her home hadn't been taken down, as no one could see it, or possibly even knew it existed. Looking at it from the outside, it really didn't even qualify as a home.

More like a tool shed.

Pitch stayed behind her, wary. He could tell that she had been through something awful, and that those memories were closely tied with fear and pain. However, he was the spirit of fear, not of memories, and he couldn't figure out what happened. He was getting awfully curious, and that is never a good thing for those around him.

He shrugged to himself as she opened the door, heading inside. His symptoms should be gone or lessened enough by the end of the week that he could finally leave. And he would, secrets or no secrets. Until then, might as well play along with her. All the better till he left.

When he entered, she had cooled down significantly. She sorted where everything they had gotten went, folded laundry, and had him help her set up the table and chairs. Very little conversation happened, and what little there was had been terse. Once she had everything set up, Adalie walked to her bed and collapsed, falling asleep almost immediately.

"Wake me up in an hour would ya?" She slurred, eyes already closed. She was dead asleep before he could even respond.

That night after dinner, as Pitch was reading on the couch, Adalie suddenly entered. She tossed a small red box at him: it bounced off of his shoulder.

"C'mon. We're playing a game."

He observed the game box after sending a small scowl at her.

"I'd rather not."

"Its a two or more player game." She sat down at the table, leaning forward and raising her eyebrows at him impatiently.

"Its childish." He tossed the box back at her.

"Well good thing then. I'm a child and you're currently acting like one. So get over here."

He growled, but stood up regardless. "Do you even know what you're doing?" He asked as she slid the cards out of the box. She smiled up at him, cutting the deck into two even halves. She cracked her knuckles, placed her hands on top of the decks, and started spreading them wildly all over the table. He jerked back in surprise. "What?!"

"I have no idea how to shuffle!" She laughed, hands shaking as she started piling the cards back into a deck.

"Oh, give that here." He snatched the cards away, gently tapping them into a neat stack in his hand. Being the oldest person on the planet had its benefits, one being an amazing skill with cards. The corner of his mouth curled upwards as his nimble fingers started handling the cards with ease. He smirked when he noticed that Adalie was almost hypnotized by his skill, her mouth forming a small 'oh'. Finally, he pulled the trick where he held the deck in one hand, the cards flying out, and caught them in the other. He looked up again, nearly laughing out loud at her expression. He dropped the deck on the middle of the table. He never missed a chance to show off.

"Shall we begin?"

\-- Later --

"You are somehow cheating! I can feel it!"

Pitch just looked up from his 3 cards, giving a sympathetic sigh. "Even if I was Adalie, you'd have no proof."

"You've won 3 games in a row." She said, placing a 'skip turn' on the pile.

He scoffed. "Have you any idea how old I am? I have centuries of practice backing me up!" His eyes scanned over his last two cards, both of them 'wild'.

Placing one down, he grinned evilly. "Uno." She growled. "And I choose..." He dragged out the last word, enjoying how she leaned forward in her chair, desperately wanting him to pick a certain color. "Ohhhh, how about..." She bit her lip, looking close to screaming. "Blue."

"DANG IT!" She threw her cards down on the table, all of them reds and yellows, as he gently slid his last card on the deck.

"Again?"

She sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "Naw, I'm spent." She slowly walked out the door, yawning. "G'night."

His eyebrow rose as she left, giving a wicked half-smile as the cloth in her bedroom doorway swished. He hunched forward slowly, steepling his fingers and breathing deeply. He started tapping his fingers in a rhythm against each other.

He would test his distance limits tommorow night. For now, he needed rest.

\-- a few days later --

The rest of the week passed with little glamour. Adalie had very little to do; half her day was spent at the lunch tent eating her fill, being all buddy-buddy with the charity ladies, and singing her heart out on the occasional day they brought a mic and speakers to the tent: if she wasn't there, she was walking the streets; playing games with Pitch (when she could wheedle him into it); fiddling with her whittling book, a knife, and a stray scrap piece of wood; or preparing scant meals.

In Pitch's mind, it was a terribly dreadful lifestyle.

But that didn't matter. He'd been out on many a nighttime stroll, pressing how far he could wander, and was overjoyed (as much as someone like him could be) to find he was free of his sickness. Or at least, he was mostly free. It would take even more time and recuperation before he would be back to normal totally.

All that was important was that he could finally leave; he could be by himself and his own misery.

However, he had been stuck with this odd girl for a whole week. If he didn't know better, he'd say she'd grown attached to him. Of course, she didn't. That'd be absolute insanity, growing attached to the King of Darkness, and she was at least semi intelligent.

Well, whether she had or had not, he didn't want any gross attachments. Especially not with a mortal.

Might as well leave her with a parting message.

Pitch strolled into her hovel with a disinterested air about him. Adalie turned from the cupboard and smiled at him. Her hands were full with a stale bag of chips, two fresh apples, and a large can of soup; Pitch had never shown interest in putting a stop to their evening meals together, so she had begun stocking up enough food for them both. "There you are! I was beginning to think you'd wandered off."

"I haven't." There was an unspoken 'yet' in his tone. Pitch watched as her face fell slightly, understanding flickering in her eyes.

"You've been testing still? You're well enough to leave?" He nodded. "Oh." She was quiet for a long moment. "Well ... I'm happy for you."

"You're a terrible liar."

She huffed, trying to rid herself of her disappointment. She'd known he wouldn't stay. "Well, I'm trying to be. Don't be a twit, please." Of course he wouldn't stay. She was a silly little mortal and he was the heartless IMmortal shadow king. He had no reason for it. She turned back to the cupboard to stack and sort her few remaining groceries.

Yet he still remained, stalking in her shadow. His words somehow echoed inside the sheet and cardboard plaster walls, making her suspect magic at work. "But you are lying, aren't you? Hiding something still." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. "Tell me, Adalie dearest," the words were sweetly spoken, but contained enough hidden poison to make a bull elephant cry for his mommy. "Where are your parents?" Pitch smiled as the girl stiffened. She had yet to turn away from the falling assortment of boards she called furniture, one apple tightly gripped in her white fingers. He stared at her hand as he spoke and, for the first time, realized her skin was almost as white as that foolish Jack Frost; his innate loathing of the feisty spirit added an extra burst of spite. "You know I specialize in fears. You've been dreading me bringing this up. What happened? Where are they?"

If it were possible, she somehow grew even stiffer. "That," she spoke, trying to be firm and cold yet coming out in a quietly wet whisper, "is none of your business."

His mouth opened wide, grey teeth drawing the light from the room. "Isn't it?"

Adalie whipped around, hand raised to point a finger in his face and tell him off, but she never got the chance. His own hand whipped up and caught her wrist: his grip wasn't tight or uncomfortable, but Adalie gasped in pain nonetheless for at his touch all the secrets he wanted so badly came rushing to the surface of her mind.

The images flashed by too quickly for Pitch to make sense of them all, but he registered a few important ones; hospitals; so many hospitals; tubes and IV needles; a young girl running from a tall and brutish lady; a knife in the lady's hands; a man who must have been Adalie's father cradling the young child; a fight between the man and woman; papers; a stranger in a suit; a large van with beds and coolers filled with snacks; sitting in a car with her father and singing away to peppy tunes on the radio and CDs; that van turned upside down, smoke pouring from the engine; running again; stumbling to this unfeeling town; hunkering down in a glorified tool shed; the slow and creeping feeling of your insides shutting down one by one.

Pitch shot away from the child as if she had burned him. Adalie crumpled to the ground, sobbing: she didn't even have the strength to wave him away, to tell him to leave her for making her remember everything.

Pitch stood there, processing.

He himself wasn't sure why he had done what he had. Perhaps he was simply tired of the child holding her secret from him. Perhaps he was so used to being rejected and cast out that he now unconsciously worked to make sure he would be. Perhaps neither was true. But now he couldn't take back what he had learned.

"You're dying..."

She couldn't respond.

"You live this horribly, try to make friends with random ladies who give you food and do your laundry, take in a demon of fear... all while you're dying..."

He couldn't understand.

How could someone not fight for their life? What could posses someone to accept that their death was cutting their life short? All life feared death. He, the embodiment of fear, feared death. Even Sandy had been afraid of death for a few moments when Pitch was absorbing him into the nightmare sand; of course, heroism gets to you, and he swallowed his fear to hold his head up high. Pitch had to give Sandy credit for that.

But Adalie was a sixteen-year-old child, not an over-half-a-millenia old hero.

Pitch did the only thing he knew to do in a situation such as this.

He left. Stumbling out into the street and running to the trees on the edge of town, he left Adalie behind. The sun was setting, leaving the moon big and bright. Manny cast a beam of light down near Pitch, inviting him to a conversation. He didn't enter. Instead he glared up at the only other creature that was even close to his own age.

"You organized this, didn't you" he growled, desperate to throw blame onto somebody. "As I ran from your precious guardians you guided me here somehow."

Except for a slight pulse in the moon beam, Manny didn't respond with words. Typical. Pitch knew what it was Manny wanted to say. He scoffed. "I'm not going back." The beam pulsed again, pushy and irritated. "No! Why would I chain myself to a dying child?! I've mostly healed! I can walk away a free man! The last person who controls me is you."

Manny, tired of this one-sided conversation, over-stepped his boundries and focused his beam of light onto Pitch: it was only on his foot, but the fearling spirit hissed in anger nonetheless.

'You are chained to her,' the ethereal voice resonated in Pitch's head, powerful and commanding. 'You cannot deny that she has worked her way into your heart.'

An image flashed in Pitch's mind: it was Adalie, how he left her, curled on the floor and coughing horribly through her sobs. Despite himself his heart (which he long believed to be dead with Kosmotis) panged at the sight.

Pitch snarled, yanked his foot out of the moon beam, and cast a final hateful glare up at the moon.

"Perhaps," he hissed.

With his last word spoken, Pitch vanished.

* * *

A/N

So I got sucked back into RotG and I've always wanted to get back to this fic, but I had major writers block. I figured, since the original chapters were way below my new standards, I would revamp the whole thing by merging chapters and polishing them up a bit more. I've also thought of some new details and the like for this.

One thing I never did was author notes or comment replies! One of the staples of my writing now! So, here we go! (Imma apologize in advance that you guys reviewed so sweetly but I never gave you anything in return as I never returned to this story.)

PeterPanfan13! He's not exactly into Uno, he'll just play anything. (Definately more into Poker and the like, tho he'll have a hard time getting Adalie to play that)

Whispurr10! I AM CONTINUING! And I'm very glad you like this!

Carmello7901! Again, glad you like this! And I can agree with you, angst and tragedy is usually far more enjoyable to my dark soul than fluff (and this will have both!) As for if she will die or not... well, I cannot rightly give away spoilers directly. Maybe Pitch will save her. Maybe he'll fail. Maybe he isn't coming back, determined not to be chained down by attachment and emotion. You'll have to wait and see!

That does seem to be all!

So long my dear Lovies!


	4. An Encounter and a Return

Jack Frost was sent whirling through the sky. Free as a bird, the wind tossed him around and around as he whooped in pleasure. He was sticking to the northernmost states and Canada: the world was warming into spring and soon he would be trapped near the poles, but he was determined to enjoy his last few weeks of fun.

The sun was bright today, but so was the moon. It could clearly be seen, even in the middle of the day. Jack's relationship with Manny had vastly improved since becoming a guardian: the moon still didn't often speak with his chosen winter spirit, but sometimes he would shine more brightly for Jack, or lead him on a goose chase with a moonbeam so he would find a child in need.

In fact, Jack was chasing a moonbeam right now. It was leading him a little further South than he would have liked, but Jack trusted Manny, so he followed with all his might.

The beam of light fell on an abandoned silo in the woods and promptly dissapeared. There was a worn path leading from the miniature barn the silo grew from to a town about a mile away. Jack tucked his body in and alighted on the domed roof of the silo.

Someone was singing into its walls, the sound echoing against the stone and unimpeded by sound absorbing grain. It was a pretty voice, young and feminine. Jack slid off the silo roof, gently fell the short distance, and landed on the half caved in roof of the miniature barn: the wood creaked under his light weight. Once certain he wouldn't fall in, Jack looked to see who was singing.

It was indeed a girl: not much younger than his physical age, probably around sixteen, with really pale skin and long dark blonde hair that fell to her waist. She was wearing jeans with tights underneath and a hoodie (despite the warming weather.) Aparantly she hadn't heard his arrival, and started singing a new song. Jack just assumed she didn't believe in him, like most others.

(Build that wall (Zia's theme), Darren Korb, for the game Bastion.)

She hummed, tapping on the stone wall to keep time. "I dig my hole you build a wall," her voice was sweet and light. "I dig my hole you build a wall. One day that wall is gonna fall. Come build that city on a hill, come build that city on a hill. Some day those tears are gonna spill. So build that wall and build that wall and build it strong; cause we'll be there before too long..."

Jack was entranced by the somber mood of the song, leaning forward to hear it even better. The words echoed around in the silo, giving it another layer of mystery.

"Come build that wall up to the sky, come build that wall up to the sky. Some day your bird is gonna fly." Her voice fell, quieting to a hush, unaware of the ears listening. "Come build that wall until it's done, come build that wall until it's done. But now you've got nowhere to run. So build that wall and build it strong; cause we'll be there before too long..."

After a moment, the girl hummed in satisfaction. She tilted her head, running through a mental playlist for more music. Jack didn't dare say a word, too entranced by her singing.

She nodded once again, beginning to hum the instrumental intro of her new song.

(If I Die Young, I'm not sure who originally wrote it, I've modified some words to fit the theme)

"If I die young, bury me in satin: lay me down on a bed of roses; sink me in the river at dawn; send me away with the words of a love song. Lord make me rainbow; shine down on my father. He'll know I'm safe with you when he stands under my colors, and ohhh. Life ain't always what you think it oughtta be no. Ain't even grey but he buries his baby in the sharp knife of a short life. Well I've had, just enough time." Her voice swelled, adding magnificence to the somberness of her music.

"If I die young, bury me in satin; lay me down on a bed of roses; sink me in the river at dawn; send me away with words of a love song! And I've had just enough time... I'll be wearing white, when I come onto your kingdom: I'm as green as a ring on my little cold finger. I've never known the lovin' of a man, but it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand! There's a boy here in town: says he'l love me forever; and who would've thought forever could be severed by the sharp knife, of a short life? Well I've had just enough time!"

Her voice swelled and rose with the emotion of the song, holding put the last word until she fell back into humming the instrumental. Her voice was enchantingly quiet once again.

"A penny for my thoughts, oh no: I'll sell them for a dollar. They're worth so much more after I'm a goner; and maybe then you'll hear the words I've been singin'. Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'." Her voice was so soft Jack nearly fell off of his perch to hear. She repeated the opening chorus once again, growing from soft to a perfectly sustained crescendo. Then she repeated once more.

"A sharp knife, of a short knife! Well, I've had just enough time. If I die young, bury me in satin. Lay me down..."

Her voice trailed off.

Jack felt two tears slipping down his cheeks. At the words of her song he couldn't help but remember his own death: he couldn't see why anyone would sing of death so sweetly. The girl herself brushed a tear away from her cheek.

"Why are you so sad?" It was just a whisper, Jack couldn't help himself; but at his words she whipped around, wide-eyed.

"What?"

Jack leaned back in surprise himself. He blinked rapidly. Did... did she just... "uhm. Hello? Up here?"

The girl whipped her face upwards. She really was pale, with wide teal blue eyes, and slightly sunken features. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh I'm so sorry! I didn't know anyone else was here! I-" she tilted her head, looking up at his preposterous choice of seating. "How did you even get up there?"

Jack wasn't quite sure what to make of this situation. This strange girl apparently believed enough in him to see and hear him, but it almost looked like she mistook him for a regular dude. He shrugged internally. Might as well do what he did best. "How'd I get up here? Easy. I flew."

She looked skeptical. "Rrreaaally?" She held out the word, smiling despite her misgivings. Her eyes widened as if she suddenly remembered something. "What, did the wind just pick you up?"

Jack was delighted. "Why yes!" To demonstrate, he let his body fall forward. The wind caught him so he hung upside down, dangling in front of the strange girl. He held out his hand for an upside down handshake. "The name is Jack Frost!"

She laughed, and shook his hand. "Adalie. So if you're Jack Frost, than are the others real? Like the Easter Bunny and Santa?"

Adalie felt bad to have to pretend she didn't already know; but she had no idea how Jack would react if she told him that she knew because she had taken care of his mortal enemy. That held all kinds of warning signs. She was trying not to think about Pitch. He'd only been gone for two days, but it hurt like he had been around and been gone for longer than he really had been.

Jack brightened. "Oh yeah! The Tooth Fairy and the Sandman too! All of us."

Adalie beamed. "I knew it! I just knew there had to be some driving force behind the good in the world! I mean... not that people don't have good in them... well-"

"I know what you mean," Jack waved a hand smiling widely. He puffed up his chest, placing a fist there, and spoke in a false deep voice, "protectors and guardians of good and the hopes of children, don't you know!" Adalie laughed as he began leaping all across the barn, dashing and leaping off of rusted surfaces. "Daring saves! Viscous battles! Good and evil at the other's throat!"

"Be careful!" She barely managed to speak through her laughing, holding her hands out as if to stop him though she herself did not move. "You'll cut yourself and get tetanus or the like."

He half-hopped half-stumbled to a stop with a dramatic "nahhhhh. It'll take more than a measly cut to stop Jack Frost." He kicked one foot across his leg and leaned on his crooked staff. Jack sent a dazzling smile her way. It wasn't effective.

The two fell into easy conversation, passing topics back and forth and laughing often. They were unaware of two extra pairs of ears listening: one was far more humanoid, while the other pair was long and furry; one was wondering why a random girl could see Jack Frost, the other was wondering why she was bothering to talk with Jack Frost.

There was a sudden snap of a twig. Jack moved on instinct, whirling in front of Adalie and raising his staff defensively. He peeked through the wooden boards of the walls. Releasing his defensive posture, he sighed loudly and said, "Bunny I can see your fur." The oversized rabbit poked his head up and glowered at his younger counterpart. Jack laughed. "What are you doing out of the Warren? I thought you stayed in there until next Easter."

"I'm allowed to wander, Frost. Besides, Pitch isn't the only danger around (though he certainly is the greatest threat.)"

Adalie felt her stomach freeze over. "Uhhh, pardon?"

Bunny and Jack whipped their heads to her as if they had temporarily forgotten she was there. Jack immediately assumed the role of being an annoying twit, with an overdramatic gesture and a condescending "well introduce yourself. It's rude to ignore someone."

The Easter Bunny sent a glare Jack's way. But still he climbed into the falling apart barn and gave Adalie his massive paw. "Hello there." She gawked at him. He chuckled. "Not expecting me to be this large, huh?"

"Would it be rude if I said no?" She craned her neck to look up at him. He was easily two feet taller than she was.

"Naw."

"Ok good cause you're really freaking big." Jack snorted at the back of the barn, eliciting another glare.

Jack shaped up, growing serious. "Ok but seriously. What're you doing all the way out here? We can tell you ourselves, it's not exactly the safest to be out wandering alone." Though Pitch was defeated, there were other dangers rearing their heads and nightmares still on the loose.

Adalie shrugged. "I was just out for some fresh air. Enjoying the scenery before I leave."

"Leave?" Jack tilted his head. "Where are you going?"

She flushed. She really hated lying. "Oh, I'm moving. I don't actually know where: my parents are the kind to keep me on my toes with surprises." Technically they were (her mother most of all,) but just not in the lighthearted way Bunny and Jack assumed it to be. Adalie wished she could tell, but she found no point in worrying them over a hopeless battle. "As I'm sure you heard, empty silos like this are great for singing into, so I like to come here from time to time to just calm down and get away from the world."

Jack was nodding, beginning to ramble about his methods of doing the same, but Bunny was shifting from foot to foot. Adalie noticed first. "Is something wrong?"

The large rabbit was flipping one of his boomerangs in his hand: the hum of its blade filled the small room. "I dunno. I'm getting a bad sort of feeling 'ere. Something along the lines of our world. It's probably best you be getting home."

Jack was alerted to the feeling too, bouncing his staff lightly. "Yeahhh," he was looking around suspiciously. "We'll walk you back to the town."

And so Adalie and Bunny found themselves being clothes-lined out of the barn and marched out to the general direction of the town. Bunny complained that Jack was making choices for him. Adalie just hugged herself slightly. "So, what in your would could be so bad that I have to be walked home? Are there evil spirits like you guys?"

Bunny growled slightly. "Oh yeah. Big guy in particular. Pitch Black." Adalie's stomach froze over again. "We defeated him for the second time about a month ago, but you never know with him."

Jack's head whipped around 180, bug-eyed. "Pitch is seriously still a problem? I know his mares are still on the loose, but..."

"Aw no mate." Bunnymund looked grim. "If he wasn't properly gone the first time, than I doubt he is this second time." Noticing Adalie's sustained confusion, he explained further. "Pitch is nothing but pure evil Ada. He lives and thrives off of the fear and despair of others. He himself is the embodiment of fear." He looked up, scanning the trees. "The world would be better off with him gone."

Adalie bit her lip. "I- I don't mean to seem rude or contradictory or anything, but... well... if he is the embodiment of fear, then without him there would be no fear in the world, right?"

Bunny shrugged. "Pretty much. Of course, there'd be some, but he'd take the most with him."

"That doesn't sound like a very good thing to me."

Oooh boi had she dug a pit for herself now. The two whipped around to face her, looking incredulous. She waved her hands over their indignant replies, begging for a chance to explain; but how does one explain indirectly defending someone's greatest enemy without insulting that someone. "Ok," she said at last. They had come to a standstill on the road, right in a patch of sunlight. "I'm going to put this very radically to try and prove what I'm trying to say; but first, for real, I'm not saying fear should be used for tyranny over others." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"So, no Pitch equals effectively no fear, yeah?" The two nodded. "Ok, then let's expand that so no Pitch equals no fear at all. Even the smallest, most commonplace kinds of fear are taken away. In that scenario, if I have no fear, than what is there stopping me from going home, turning the stove on the highest heat, and face-planting onto the element."

Jack and Bunny leapt back with cries of alarm, but Adalie continued.

"What would stop me from doing blindfolded hardcore-parkour on train tracks? Why aren't I juggling wickedly sharp knives?" She fell silent and let them come up with an answer.

The boys were too busy spluttering to properly respond. Words and phrases such as "are you crazy", "no", and "that's a bit far" were all that could be understood. Their panic at her outlandish questions was kinda sweet. Adalie pressed them for an answer however. "What's stopping me?"

Bunny looked around wildly, shouting "well self-preservation for one! Common sense?!"

"What's fueling that?"

"Reason!" The rabbit was hot in the face now.

"And why does that matter to me?"

Jack spoke this time. "Your health??? Aren't you afra-"

He froze, pun not intended. Bunny halted as well, staring open mouthed at Jack.

Adalie smiled. They finally saw her point. "I AM afraid. I've been afraid my whole life. Everyone is afraid their whole life. That fear is toned down and called common sense and self-preservation, but at the root of it all, it is still fear; and it's what keeps us alive. People normally don't harm themselves in such a drastic way because they fear extreme damage to themselves; people don't do blindfolded parkour on or even near train tracks (or even do parkour blindfolded at all) for fear of death; and the same with juggling knives. People do the last two for fun and the adrenaline, but they do so carefully and with training." She began fiddling with her hands. "I don't hurt and abuse my friends for fear of being left alone. People don't climb mountain cliffs for fear of failing in someway and falling; those who do climb load themselves down with gear to save them if they fall. When you think about it, there really is a motive of fear behind most decisions."

Jack and Bunnymund had yet to say another word, still staring wide-eyed at Adalie. The third person who had been listening earlier was still eavesdropping, and was left just as speechless as the two guardians.

Adalie blushed under their stares. All she had wanted to do was to throw some credit on Pitch's name; she hadn't been expecting this. "But I mean, like I said: I don't believe fear should be used for tyranny over others in any situation. I just also think fear by itself is not inherently evil."

Jack looked dumbstruck. "I never thought of it that way... Pitch himself is definently evil, but maybe he is necessary... in a way..."

"Maybe," Bunny rolled his jaw, "but I'm not gonna like it."

Adalie shrugged and bowed her head out of embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Just speaking my mind."

Bunny deflated slightly and Jack bumped shoulders with her. "Its cool! But seriously, let's lighten up the subject! You got me depressed." Once again, the winter spirit was railroading them along the trail, leaving the astonished eavesdropping ears behind.

The three did indeed lighten up, with Bunny and Jack bicker-bantering between each other and Adalie once again delving into singing, picking an adventurous song; a song concerning Russia and running. (Troika, Blackmore's Night, not sure if original creator) As they progressed, the two Guardians' unease settled. It was a half hour walk, but together it made for an enjoyable time: Adalie laughed until her sides hurt, smiled until her cheeks begged her to stop, and talked until her lungs demanded air.

Near the town they were alerted to an injured cat by its loud mewling. Adalie rushed to the poor thing. Without hesitating, she shook off her oversized hoodie (revealing how skinny she really was,) and began slicing at the bottom of her shirt to make a bandage for the injured animal's leg: Bunny and Jack turned away out of respect. She pacified the terrified cat with the remainder of a bun she had been snacking on. Six years of camping out in parks with her dad had taught her how to properly care for wounds; she didn't have the necessities on her person now, but she could do this little for it.

Once the cat's leg was bandaged, Adalie stroked the tabby until he was comfortable with her, then carefully secured him in her arms. They then began their way to town with renewed hurry. She detoured them to run by the charity.

Emily caught sight of the girl almost immediately. Jack and Bunny hung back, staying out of sight of the few children present.

They watched, fascinated, as the motherly woman took the injured cat from Adalie's arms. It was obvious she was promising to make sure he got good care. As Adalie was fiddling and saying she had to leave, her jacket must have shifted and revealed her torn shirt, for Emily just about had a field day. The two boys could hear her across the parking lot.

Not one protest from Adalie could stop Emily from almost shoving a new shirt and a skirt into Adalie's hands. Emily pointed at the young girl before her in a very "and don't you say no" fashion. Jack laughed a little at the scene.

Adalie finally relented and took the clothing only to then be forced to grab some food. By the time she had grabbed food, walked away, and the two men had rejoined with her, she was red in the face.

"I'm really not hungry," she mumbled into her roast beef sandwich.

All too soon though, reality sunk in. She was "home".

Adalie stood between two houses, gesturing to the small space that led to her hovel: the last thing she wanted was for them to see through her lies and then panic: Adalie knew that she was growing weaker and weaker, and that this was probably the last time she'd be able to venture outside. She was exhausted. "I'll go through the back way. Don't want my parents to see," she gestured to her stomach, where strands of her torn shirt could be seen, "this."

Bunny looked around. "A'ight, well. Stay clear of any trouble Ada."

He ruffled his massive paw in her hair, making her giggle. "Everything is gonna be fine. Pinky promise."

Bunnymund rolled his eyes, but pinky promised anyway; and then was shoved out of the way so Jack could pinky promise as well. Bunny tapped his foot on the ground and dissapeared into a newly formed hole. Jack waved. "It was nice to meet you!" He shot into the air.

Adalie watched him dissapear.

Her stomach twinged and she coughed roughly. One hand on the outside wall of a house, she stumbled into the dingy alleyway. All she had to do was get to her hovel, lie down, and preferably not get back up.

Her foot caught on the other, and she lurched forward in a fall.

Before she could hit pavement, Adalie found herself held up by someone. She looked up, initially thinking jack had doubled around.

"You aren't trying to replace me with those two weirdos, are you?" Pitch set her on her feet, stabilizing her with one hand on her shoulder.

Adalie burst into tears, snatching the man into a hug with a relieved "Pitch!"

"There there now," he hummed, patting her on the back. "Let's get you inside."

She could barely see through her tears and her legs were so weak that Pitch was almost carrying her inside. She didn't see the change he had made to the hovel: he'd filled every gap and hole with his black sand so warmth was trapped inside. Pitch calmly guided her to her bedroom, setting her down on her bed. There was black sand packed underneath the frame as well, so she could lay down without it bowing underneath. Her fire pit was lit: the warmth hit her full in the face as soon as she entered.

Pitch wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Adalie let out a chuckle. "You seem to know what you're doing."

Pitch rolled his eyes. "I was a father once you know. Well, technically I still am: it is just a bit of a strained relationship."

Adalie hummed. She took in a deep breath, trying to force her words out. "How much... of our conversation did you hear?"

He stilled. "All of it." He patted her cheek. "Go to sleep."

As if by magic, she passed out that very second.

* * *

A/N

Wop wop wop

Well this chapter is not as smooth as I would have hoped, but I don't think I can improve it anymore than this; and if i can, it will be thru later updates.

And the clock is now ticking! How much more time does our dear have left? Will her new friends realize her situation and rush to save her? Will Pitch let them? Who knows. (Me. I know.)

I really recomend you guys find and listen to those songs, Troika especially. Their moods are so nice.

Now, comments!

Sabishiwaifu and Milky34k! Glad you both like this! Lemme tell you, I was not expecting comments so soon after reviving this.

Since those two are my only two, we're pretty much done! I would appreciate it immensely if you guys would comment feedback on this chapter: how I portrayed the characters, how I could improve the flow, whatever you think is necessary.

So long Lovies!


	5. Compassion and Kindness

Adalie's health began to decline at an alarming rate after that. Within a few days, she could barely lift herself out of bed, and leaving her hovel for the charity or any commodity was out of the question. Pitch simply didn't have it in him to be embarrassed or disgusted to have to regularly clean her from head to toe with his sand.

So Adalie just laid in bed. Pitch made her eat, but she could only stomach so little before she was full and threatened to puke. She was still whittling away at her scrap peice of wood: whenever he tried to look, Adalie would hold it close to her chest with a mumbled "not until it's ready". They both knew it wouldn't take even the slightest bit of effort on his part to lift it from her hands. He never touched the thing.

Three days in, they were huddled up in her bed. She had summoned the strength to sit upright, but was throwing most of her weight onto Pitch and his side. It was raining. Adalie couldn't stop smiling as she heard the rain drops splatter on her window pane. There was a soft grating sound as she dragged the pocket knife across her wood carving.

"Wish I had paint," she muttered. "It'd look even better with paint."

Pitch only hummed in response. He shifted so she fell into his side and his arm was wrapped around her: he tucked her blanket in to be tighter around her.

He was still marvelling that he had been given this luxury: contact with another. Sure, he thrived off of and hunted down the fear of others, but even he longed for companionship and caring touches: he'd initially thought that his desired companionship would come from Frost and that the boy would help him overthrow the Guardians, yet he had once again been shunned. They really were quite similar: abandoned, neglected, rejected.

But this dying girl held back not once: often times she almost smothered him in affection... almost.

She was still going to die soon.

Pitch didn't know how he felt about that. Death comes to everyone, even immortals if they are not careful. He'd seen death: he'd caused death: he'd once ravaged the worlds in the Golden Age, sowing death and destruction and oh-so-wonderful nightmares and fear in his wake.

And now here he was, coddling a dying girl who had seen who he really was inside and still offered her hand in kindness. No one had done so before; not the Guardians, not Jack, not even his own daughter.

Adalie shifted so she was more comfortable, setting down the wood and knife as they became too heavy for her to handle right then. Tucked into his side, she whispered "Pitch?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you tell me a story?"

He couldn't help smiling. "A story? But I am not the Spirit not the Guardian of telling stories."

"But you said you were older than Mother Goose," Adalie countered. "Older than the Moon and as old or maybe even older than Sandman. You've got to have some stories."

Pitch chuckled. This girl really remembered everything. "Alright, let me tell you about the Golden age."

\-- story time --

Long ago, before the dark ages, before the rise of shadows and fearlings, before the rise of Pitch Black, the Golden age was at its peak. It was a glorious time of prosperity, safety, and magic. Men and women could sail across the stars and galaxies, encountering magical races and people. The Universe was governed by Constellations, groups of planets and stars led by benevolent families who ruled with fairness and imagination.

Then the fearlings, nightmare men, and dream pirates rose, sowing chaos and fear.

But among the forces of men rose a hero, loved by all. His name was Kozmotis Pitchiner, Lord High General of the Galaxies. Over many years he and his forces rounded up the scoundrels that threatened the safety of his home and people. He was a kind and just man, and a fierce warrior.

Kozmotis had a loving wife and his wonderful daughter, Emily Jane Pitchiner. No one could match the love he felt for them.

But one day, as he was out dealing with a skirmish far away from his home, his wife and daughter were attacked; Lady Pitchiner fell to her death, while Emily was never found. Distraught, Kozmotis volunteered to help in the only way left to him: with the forces of evil locked away on a distant planet, he became their keeper and jail master, locking them away for good.

Sounds wonderful, doesn't it?

Unfortunately, life had other plans.

Kozmotis was forced day in and day out to listen to the pleas and tempting whispers of the trapped fearlings, but he kept his focus and sanity through one means; thinking of his lost daughter and gazing at a picture of her in his locket.

The fearlings had found his weakness.

One day they cast a spell, taking on the form of his daughter Emily being tortured and injured in the cell with them. They made the visage scream and plead for her father.

What was a man to do?

In a moment of weakness of fatherly love and protection, Kozmotis opened the gate. The fearlings dropped the spell and thousands upon thousands of their kind took hold on the hero, feeding on and twisting who he was until they had changed him into a monster like themselves. Kozmotis Pitchiner was no more.

Now Pitch Black, leader of the shadow forces, was present. There was no more kindness in his heart. Only fear and hatred remained.

He ravaged the galaxies, plundered planets, snuffed out stars, and stole every good dream he found, leaving misery in his wake. He destroyed the Lunar Lamas and Pooka Brotherhood; however, the latter battle was quite difficult, and he nearly lost.

Pitch feasted on the dreams of children, for those are the most pure. However, he had his heart set on the child prince of Lunanoff, who had never before had a nightmare, and who Pitch was determined to turn into a nightmare prince. The young prince's parents fled with him on a course for Earth. When Pitch caught up with them, he moved in to destroy the child's parents. However, the Lunanoffs had one trick up their sleeve. They had a Nightlight sworn to protect their son, and as Pitch advanced, the tiny being attacked, piercing the nightmare king's heart with a diamond dagger: in the resulting explosion, the parents were instantly killed, and Pitch and the Nightlight vanished. Both became trapped in a limbo, and the little prince sailed on. He landed on the Earth's moon, where-on he learned magic and love for the people of Earth. The little prince swore to protect that people: over many many years he grew into the Man in the Moon.

Pitch was trapped nearby a village on earth, and Nightlight trapped in the coldness and darkness of his enemy's heart; until the day MiM found them. In an attempt to free his old protector, MiM unwillingly freed Pitch as well.

And so Pitch began ravaging of Earth as he had once ravaged the universe beyond. For years and years, he fought against MiM's rising Guardians ruthlessly, continually attempting to kill, turn, or eradicate them.

Eventually however, he fell. He became trapped in the darkness, starved of belief and defenseless against the Guardians; but he was not dead, oh no.

It is very hard to kill an immortal.

And, not too very long ago, Pitch Black made it very clear that he was far from gone in this Earth.

\-- back to reality --

As Pitch finished his tale, he looked down at little Adalie. "Happy?"

Her eyes were closed, but she managed a weak unintelligible mumble at his question. It was a miracle she had stayed awake. Pitch sighed: it sounded condescending, but Adalie could hear the affection in it even in her half-asleep state. He rose and shifted the frail girl so she was laying on her back. Adalie gave a weak sound at the loss of body warmth, but then she immediately fell asleep.

Pitch stood, leaning over her, for several minutes.

She really was so very frail, as if a breeze could pick her up and carry her across the world. Her skin was getting even paler too; Adalie looked to be made of tissue paper.

Stretching out a hand, Pitch tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Good night, Adalie."

He walked away. Pitch headed through the town, to the edge, into the forest, and came into the clearing where he had previously spoken with MiM. There was no moonbeam for him this time. Pitch looked up to the Moon, almost shrugging in helplessness. "What do you expect to come of this old friend? Do you think the day I became this can be undone? You know as well as I that she is not the first human I have become attached to, and doubtless she won't be the last."

The moon seemed to twinkle sadly.

Pitch scoffed. "Of course, what do you care. As long as your Guardians protect the children you will never intercede. Not in some hopeless case..." his voice trailed off and his gaze lowered to the ground. Leaning against a tree, Pitch remained there for several minutes, thinking, wishing there was something he could do.

He realized he didn't want Adalie to die. He had never met someone filled with as much kindness as she held; and to be the recipient of that kindness...

The wind kicked up, but he thought nothing of it.

He should have, for soon after there was the disbelieving growl of, "Pitch!"

He whirled around and instantly had a crooked wooden staff shoved in his face. Pitch growled in turn and scurried backwards.

Jack frost held his crackling staff high, ready to attack. "What are you doing here?" He spat out each word with malice. "You're supposed to be licking your wounds in the underground."

Pitch spat right back. "Last I checked, Frost, you don't determine how I care for myself."

He would have continued on some tirade, but Jack wasn't listening. "You always have some reason and motivation for what you do... so what's special about-"

Jack tensed up. So far he only knew of one thing extraordinarily special about this town: something so special in fact, that he had forced himself through a climate quickly growing against him so that he might see if that special thing was still present; and if it was, see if he could find out where it was going. His eyes widened with horror. "Adalie..." he whispered.

"Who?" Pitch lied through his teeth. The last thing he wanted was for this meddling spirit to come in and take her away from him.

Jack was having none of it. He brandished his staff in Pitch's face once again. "ADALIE! Small girl, too sweet for her own good, believes that the forces in the world are moved by and controlled by people-- she believed in me even though she'd never heard my name! You've done something to her, haven't you?!"

"I have no idea who you are talking about!" He hoped not one bit of the anxiety he felt on the inside was showing on the outside. If Jack found out, he'd call the other Guardians who would then hound Pitch, forcing him to run: he could try to take Adalie away, seal her down in the underground realm with him; but then the nightmares would most certainly infect her as they had infected him all those centuries ago. Plus he had no doubt that the Guardians would claw their way down there.

His only choice was to somehow persuade Jack that he had no business with this town.

Pitch sucked in a breath, ready to speak over Jack's objections, when suddenly...

He went very still.

Jack noticed, cutting his tirade short. He reflexively lowered his staff, looking closely at Pitch. "What's wrong with you?"

Pitch didn't respond: he didn't even hear Jack. All he heard was the sudden coughing of a weak child who unknowingly had ears listening through black sand. All he knew was the sudden rush of fear as a child coughed until she couldn't breathe.

With a sudden explosion of black sand, Pitch dissapeared.

Jack started, taken by surprise; but then his instincts kicked in, and he leapt towards the town.

Pitch rushed through shadows into Adalie's hovel. She was coughing, hacking dryly, red in the face: Pitch rolled her onto her side, rubbing and patting her back until the phlegm and bile stuck deep down came out in a wet splatter on the concrete floor. Pitch wiped it away in a sweep of black sand without thought. Adalie took in a shuddering breath. Still clutching the folded pocket knife and her carving, Adalie curled in tightly as she coughed out of reflex.

"No no," Pitch ran his long hand down her side, comforting. "Relax. You need to relax." His free hand cupped under her cheek, raising her head slightly and rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. Adalie nuzzled into the touch. She tried her best to relax as he said. It was hard, but eventually she brought her breathing back under control. Her temperature had spiked: Pitch cursed.

As if to make matters worse, he heard the tale-tell whoosh of the Wind carrying Jack Frost. Looking at Adalie, Pitch realized that he couldn't move her to the underground even if he wanted to.

The shock alone at this moment would probably kill her.

So he was left with only one way out.

He leaned down and whispered, "I'll be right back. Don't move." In a mixture of haste and attempted comfort, Pitch quickly kissed Adalie's temple, much like Kozmotis would have kissed his daughter Emily as he left on an emergency mission in the war.

The sentiment did not last. His hands were quickly pulled away from her as he stood to his full height and rushed out to meet Frost. He didn't have a plan.

Adalie whimpered as the comfort she had come to find in Pitch vanished. She could hear him shouting; and unless her fever was playing tricks, Jack Frost had come back to find her and was shouting right back. The sounds of a scuffle reached her ears next.

She moved on instinct. Those she cared for would not fight over her; not while she had anything to say or do about it.

Fumbling over the edge of her bed, Adalie grasped at her umbrella: it was a long and sturdy thing, and she'd used it as a makeshift cane before in her life. With great effort, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Blood rushed to her head, making her see spots. She screwed her eyes shut, swallowing hard to push down what remained of her dinner that threatened to come back up.

Cold greeted her as soon as the covers fell off; whether that was from her fever, Jack's powers, or both, she didn't know. Still, she planted her feet on the ground and, summoning some inner strength, Adalie pushed herself to an unsteady stance.

Jack and Pitch were yelling now, but she couldn't make out the words through the rushing in her ears.

'Ok Ada,' she mentally whispered with herself, unconsciously using the nickname Bunnymund had given her, 'you got the hard part over with. Good job. Now, walk. It's not that hard, you've been walking since you were a toddler. Just walk to the door frame.' With her first step she almost tumbled straight to the floor, but she caught herself with her umbrella and kept her feet under her. The second step was much closer to a shuffle: then the third came: then the fourth: then she was at the door frame. 'Look how good you are. Now, lean on the walls, and get to the boys. Keep shuffling forward. They need you.'

Adalie did. She shuffled half-steps towards the door, then longer steps: one shoulder and hand rested on the wall as her other hand helped her walk with the umbrella. Her progress felt painfully slow.

There was definately frost spreading on the ground. She took extra care not to slip.

At last, she reached the doorframe. Adalie nearly fell onto the wood in relief. Her skin was burning with the cold of the night air and her head was filled with packing peanuts, but she could still see.

Pitch was between her and Jack: both looked seconds away from a proper throw-down.

"... hey." Her voice was more of a wheeze than an actual spoken word, but both Pitch and Jack whipped their head to her, wide-eyed. She managed a smile. "I know this is super out of character for me, but I'm really not feeling like I can break up a dog-fight right now."

Jack's jaw dropped. The Adalie he had met in the forest was not the Adalie he saw standing behind Pitch: the girl he had met three days previously had been pale sure, but her skin hadn't been nearly translucent; the girl he had met had smiled plenty, but it hadn't been this strained; the girl he had met had certainly looked tired, but she didn't look ready to fall over; the Adalie Kia he had met was thin to be sure, but she didn't look like a couple toothpicks.

She saw his expression and her heart broke. "I'm so sorry I lied Jack. I didn't want to worry you with something that can't be avoided."

"Wha-... how..." Jack was lost for words. Tears filled his eyes. "What can't be avoided?"

Adalie smiled a resigned smile, not answering for the answer was obvious: Jack already knew, he just didn't want to admit it. Pitch was staring down at the ground, having moved to the side so they could speak without having to talk over his shoulder. He sighed. "You really shouldn't have gotten out of bed," he chastised.

"Well I couldn't just stay there and let you guys fight. Although," her umbrella skidded out from under her grip on the slick ground, leaving her clinging bodily to the doorframe, wide-eyed, "you do have a point."

Jack watched (not really processing,) as Pitch stepped forward and scooped up tiny little Adalie into his arms, turned to the winter spirit, calmly said "just come inside," then turned without another word. Silently, Jack followed.

* * *

A/N

Bit of a different chapter than normal, but that's a good thing! Also nice and long! Also, if you're wondering, I basically ripped all of that backstory right off of Wiki, so kudos to them: I had already known the gist, but I wanted to be as accurate as possible.

Also SOFT PITCH! HES A GOOD EVIL SOFT BOI AND NO ONE CAN CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE! HE IS A TOTAL SWEETHEART AND WHOEVER TELLS ME HE ISN'T IS GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE CONSEQUENCES!

With that outta the way, comments!

Just one from an anonymous reviewer! I will certainly try to keep up with the quality of writing, and I hope I won't disappoint.

So Jack is now in on the secret. How will he react to knowing Adalie is under Pitch's care (and also dying)? Wait and see!

So long Lovies!


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